


Old Face, New Face

by Hekate1308



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, post 12x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9891185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Of freaking course the boys would call him these days for another time travel adventure. Not that he expected gratitude or anything like that. Crowley centric, post 12x12.





	

Of freaking course there had been a demon once who’d collected information about the Colt, and how to possibly modify it.

Since Archon had been one of their most skilled torturers at the same time, no one had begrudged him that little hobby. Or existed long enough to make of it for him.

Sadly, he had passed away when the angels had busted into Hell to drag Dean out.

Crowley had been wisely far away at the time. Knowing Lilith’s plan, he’d had no wish to die for the Apocalypse, neither before nor after he’d betrayed Hell in order to get rid of Lucifer.

So there was no way to see if he had, by any chance, discovered something that would turn the Colt that almost killed everything to the Colt that would kill anything –

Except there was, and naturally, Moose, Squirrel and Feathers had figured it out.

Everyone’s favourite angel was still a bit shaken after the unfortunate incident with Michael’s Lance, and therefore Dean would absolutely not allow him anymore time travel adventures.

And soe they called him.

Typical. Always ready to ask for favours, but when it came to saying thank you every once in a while...

He went to the bunker anyway. The Winchesters were an asset he couldn’t afford to lose, as he’d put it recently, deliberately ignoring that many others would not agree with him on the subject.

Even the choir boy, for all his faults, and being a half-angel these days, had his good points.

To his surprise, Dean had apparently never bothered to put the stronger wardings back up. He’d have imagined he’d bounce back and forced to knock, but instead he appeared right in front of the drinks, as he had intended.

Dean appeared as he was pouring himself a glass of scotch.

“Going right for the good stuff, I see”.

“I have never put up with less, Squirrel.”

“Don’t I know”.

He waited a moment, but neither moose nor Castiel showed up.

“Where’s your entourage?”

“Could ask you the same thing” Dean mumbled, taking a sip of the bottle he carried in his hand.

Water, Crowley noticed, even though he wasn’t happy about it. Of course not. How much Dean drank was none of his business.

“Sam and Cas are doing research in the library.”

“You do realize your little idea of a Doctor Who episode could easily land us – “

“I have seen Star Trek 4, I ain’t that dumb”.

Crowley could easily agree with that. Dean Winchester was one of the most intelligent beings he had ever come across – or fought against – but it was hardly his job to boost his ego. He didn’t answer.

“Even if we get information about the Colt, we don’t know where it is, currently” he pointed out.

One of the more interesting points during their phone call had been when Dean admitted that Mummy Winchester had not only given the colt to the British Men of Letters, but quickly decided she couldn’t deal with it all and run off again.

It seemed she and her husband had had quite the same philosophy when it came to parenting.

Crowley held back from making a comment, knowing Dean wouldn’t appreciate it.

Even when he had been a demon, the memory of his mother had been sacred to him. No idea what he was thinking about her now.

“Yes, but point is, we have to know what it can do. After all, with these sons of bitches having it – God knows what sort of chaos they could wreak.”

For one second, he thought Dean looked at him worriedly. It was true – the colt could very well kill him too; and he didn’t know how much information the Men of Letters had on him. Considering they seemed to know all about the Winchesters’ closest... allies, he didn’t hold much hope that he’d gone under their radar so far.

But they didn’t seem in a hurry to attack Hell, only to kill monsters. He couldn’t blame them; most of those he knew where either helplessly obvious or just too dumb to figure out how to stay out of the spotlight.

That said, he was rather sure that the vampire contact who hadn’t called him in four weeks had been one of their victims, and the guy had been vegan, or the vampire version of it, anyway. No sense of delicacy, these British pricks had.

“So you want to break the laws of space and time just because?”

“I don’t trust that Ketch guy” Dean said abruptly. “There’s something off with him. No matter what – “ He took a deep breath. “I trust my gut, and my gut says we should better be prepared.”

No argument there.

“And what’s in it for me?”

“You won’t get murdered by a bunch of psychopathic wanna-be Sherlock Holmeses”.

There was, of course, the fault in his logic that they probably wouldn’t go after Crowley, but neither of them pointed it out.

They both knew he was going to do it anyway.

Plus, he realized somewhat belatedly, he would not be sorry to find a way to get rid of Lucifer once and for all, even only theoretically.

Not that the Winchesters knew about that.

Maybe they should, a treacherous voice inside his head reminded him.

That had been happening more and more, try as he might to stop it.

“And how many of you am I having the honour of sending back?”

Dean grimaced.

“Cas is in no position to fight”.

Naturally. The precious angel had to be coddled after he almost died. Never mind someone going up against, let’s say, Lucifer and getting hurt.

“Sam?”

“One of us has to keep his eyes on – things.”

Meaning Feathers, again.

Why they didn’t just elope was a mystery to him.

“So it’s you and me, just like old times?”

Dean shrugged.

“We didn’t make that bad a team.”

The admission shocked him. He would have thought Dean had done his best to forget about their... association.

“When do you want to go?”

“As soon as possible. Any idea where this Archon was – “

“In Hell. Think Alastair’s teacher and –“

“Thank you, I’ve heard enough.”

“Now, as much as I would love to send you to the Middle Ages, I don’t think I can muster up that much strength. Will eight years be enough?”

“If he was still kicking at this point... any chance you can get him to talk?”

“We weren’t exactly pals.”

“No surprise there” Dean grumbled. “We’ll just have to wing it.”

Why that strategy continued to work out for them, he’d never understand.

“Of course. Why don’t we just go and ask.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

He hadn’t. And if there was a thing that could help him get rid of the devil he kept back in Hell, he would –

He could already be free of him, of course. But that would have meant losing the angel, and it was always good to have one of the winged bastards on one’s side.

“So?” Dean asked impatiently.

“Fine, Squirrel” he snapped, thankful from the distraction of the memory of one of his – allies almost rotting alive.

“I felt like getting myself killed today”.

After all, what could go wrong?

As usual with the Winchesters, everything did.

He hadn’t even seen Moose and Feathers before they had left, since Castiel was not allowed to leave his room yet due to a certain overprotective... best friend? and Sam was busy doing research. Either that or he felt that Crowley didn’t even deserve a greeting.

Oh well. It didn’t matter.

And of course, as soon as they set foot in Hell, all Hell (for lack of a better word) broke loose.

He’d underestimated what time travel would do to him, and he needed a few moments to get his bearings.

In these few moments, Dean disappeared without a sound.

Next thing he knew, a bunch of low-life demons attacked him, and he realized too late that others would be able to tell he came from the wrong time.

Only demons, though, he hoped.

Knowing he couldn’t comb through Hell on his own, he disappeared. He didn’t travel forward, but simply changed his location to the front yard of the small house he’d been occupying as Lilith’s lackey (and occasional lover, although these days the reminiscence left him feeling rather uneasy for some reason).

Even then, he’d done his outmost to ensure he didn’t have to stay in Hell more than he needed to. Not that he’d told Lilith that. She’d have seen it as a weakness.

He didn’t know exactly what day it was, but he should be there, unless he’d been sent on one ofg her countless pointless missions again.

As if he’d ever really have allowed the Apocalypse to take off. At least that was what he had been thinking, back then. He hadn’t counted on the Winchesters. In any sense.

There was no point in trying to remember what had happened. Conflicting time streams – he’d never be able to recall.

He knocked.

He could have just shown up in the living room, but he of all people should know that he could be... unpredictable. It had served him well in the past, but it probably wouldn’t now.

God, he thought when the door was thrown open, growing a beard had really been a good idea. Whatever had he been thinking, running around like a baby-faced Russian spy?

“This is... unexpected” past him drawled.

“I bet it is. Mind if I come in?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just swept past himself and went for the Craig.

“I am pretty sure you drank that already.”

“It doesn’t matter then, does it?” he asked tiredly. He had little patience or even pity to spare for the past Crowley he was looking at. After all, what had he been through? A mere nothing compared to a few years as the Winchesters ally.

“You look like crap” other Crowley, as he chose to call him, pointed out.

“You are not exactly a vision either”.

“Why are you here?”

Ah, yes. The old days. Always so eager to get to business, then. He’d grown used to minutes of banter preceding an arrangement.

“We need to talk to Archon” he said.

“You brought someone with you?”

He wasn’t surprised that Boris had figured it out, and he was strangely pleased at the shock on his true face. He’d preferred to work alone until...

Until some time ago.

“Yes, and we have to find him.”

“You lost him? Frankly I was hoping to grow better with experience, not the other way around.”

“We were in Hell. Things get lost.”

“And why do we need him?”

Not _why do we need to find him_. No, his annoying former self had to ask _why do we need him_. The unspoken at all hung in the air.

There was a good reason he had never asked himself that question. Concerning all three of them, really.

“He is just going to wreak havoc with the timeline” he said, well aware that he’d know he was sidestepping the question. But he didn’t have the time to be diplomatic.

“And why should I care? Lilith will handle the problem, I am sure.”

“Ever consider the possibility that you should care because yourself tells you to?”

"Myself does not seem to have my best interests at heart, so... no."

“The point is, you can get into Hell and get him out”.

And they both knew he’d got him there, because an older and more experienced version of him could take this small crossroad demon any day.

And even back then, he’d never have pretended that he couldn’t.

His former self sighed, took a deep breath and vanished.

Good. Might as well pour himself another glass.

“There you have your boy toy. Have to say, at least my taste didn’t get any worse than this ridiculous beard.”

He turned around to find Dean – looking slightly the worse for wear and somewhat confused, but he was a Winchester, so that was just part of the course.

Crowley was not at all relieved to see him. He was just glad they hadn’t screwed up the timeline.

“Where – “

“Alastair” Dean spat, stepping away from former Crowley.

“Hadn’t really started yet, just kept yammering on about “practice”. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“As touching as this scene is, would someone care to explain why you decided to grace my humble abode with your annoying presence?”

“Never thought I’d actually find a version of you I disliked more than – well” Dean waved a hand toward him.

“But this cold bastard takes the cake.”

Cold? It wasn’t exactly a word he’d have used to describe himself in the past.

“He just tore to two souls for the pleasure of it to get to me” Dean seethed and he was momentarily caught off guard as he tried to remember when he’d tortured someone for pleasure for the last time. There was always so much to do, nowadays.

“I understood that _time_ was off the essence.”

“Thank you, we get it. You want the short version?” Dean asked, clearly at the end of his patience.

“If you could do me the favour.”

“Fine. The Colt Lilith’s been after has been taken by a bunch of British dicks – a lot of stuff happened, but that doesn’t matter – point is we need to know if we can modify it to kill Lucifer.”

“You let Lucifer out of the cage?”

He wasn’t surprised at the rage in his voice. He’d been so sure that he could use these idiots who stumbled around and tried to fix the world to prevent the Apocalypse.

Past him was even showing his demon eyes.

“Hey, it wasn’t his fault” Dean said.

“Sorry, Winchester, wasn’t aware I’d have the need for cheerleaders in my old age – “

Crowley had had enough.

With one quick flip of his wrist, he sent himself against the wall, panting, glaring at him.

“Look, this is easy. We can’t stay long because of the repercussions of time travel, but we also won’t leave until we can speak to Archon. So why don’t you get us an audience, we leave and no one remembers we were even here to begin with?”

He knew the glare he got in response was acquiescence, so he let him go. He promptly vanished.

“Wonder what he’d say if he knew you kept Lucifer around, these days” Dean said casually, sauntering over to the drinks and picking up a glass of Craig himself.

Naturally he would have figured it out. Crowley wasn’t even surprised.

Still, he asked, “How did you know?”

“You’d be more concerned with learning where he’d been sent if he wasn’t in Hell. You’d certainly be too busy to show up and save Cas.”

“You’re welcome, as I said before.”

“But I didn’t say thank you – before”.

The silence that followed was awkward to say the least.

“When are you supposed to be back, anyway?” Dean broke it eventually.

“I should already be” he replied smoothly.

Dean cursed.

“Can’t help it, then.”

Crowley was thinking the same. They put their glasses away and a second later, they were in Hell, with –

He was actually rather glad he didn’t remember Archon trying to torture information out of him, thank you very much.

“Years” he hissed as he twisted the knife in deeper. “Centuries of not a single one of you asking a question, and now Lilith’s little minion shows up out of the blue –“

“Hey!” Dean called out.

Archon turned around, raising an eyebrow.

“Time travel? I didn’t expect that. So that’s the reason. But I assure you – “

“We don’t have – “

Dean was thrown against the nearest wall. Against his will, he winced.

“I wonder...” Archon muttered and Crowley’s blood ran cold. He knew what Archon was contemplating.

“You can’t risk that” he said confidently. “If you take me out of the picture, the future will be altered – “

“And why should I care? I have seen enough millennia. Let’s try if a paradox is enough to end this world. I have never been that fond of it to begin with.”

Thank God for the Winchester’s frankly incredible ability to catch their breath quickly, because Dean jumped him unexpectedly, giving Crowley time to send his past self away to his house. He’d bleed on the carpet, but what could you do.  

Then, he quickly jumped in before Archon could use his knife on Dean.

“You’ve got stronger” the demon panted when Crowley had him strapped on the rack with Dean’s help.

“That’s what happens when you get the throne” Dean – boasted?

Okay, even Crowley couldn’t deny that seeing Archon on his own torture device was satisfying.

“Will you tell us now, or do we have to get you to talk?” he asked politely.

Archon sniggered.

“Even if I – there’s no point, really. You’d have to use the runes that are written upon one of the oldest weapons in existence, one your pretty friend is going to be wielding soon”.

“Michael’s Lance?” Dean asked, and then Crowley got treated to the funniest expression he had ever seen on Archon’s face as he added, “Put it in the save in the bunker.”

“How considerate of you, Squirrel. Thank you, sir, that will be all” he told the old demon before snipping his fingers.

Time to get out of the past. He could already feel his powers tiring.

Back in the bunker Dean announced “Now all we need is the colt”.

“Which we don’t have.”

He shrugged.

“We’ve had bigger problems.”

Without another word – naturally, not that he expected any thanks now, even though – no, he wasn’t going to think about that.

Point was, Dean had left to tell the other two and he should be on his way as well.

He felt the weariness setting in while contemplating another evening of the devil’s snarky comments in an empty hall.

“So Lucifer’s safe for now?”

Dean surprised him with the question, standing in the doorway.

“He can’t escape” he answered confidently. He’d made sure of it.

“And you’re staying...”

Crowley shrugged.

“Most demons these days do what they want. I’m usually pretty free to roam.”

“You hate Hell” he pointed out unnecessarily.

“Amazing, hadn’t thought you’d realized.”

But Dean had turned around, biting his lip.

Finally he said, “If I clear out a room for you, that doesn’t make us friends.”

“Of course not” he replied automatically, but Dean was already leaving, calling out his brother’s and angel’s names.

Crowley looked around. Well, it wasn’t Hell, and the bar was actually pretty well stocked.

It would do for a while.


End file.
